Dialing Death
by Midna3452
Summary: England wants to find a curse for France, when he comes across a mysterious book with the letters "DWMA" on the cover, and instructions on how to contact a certain "Lord Death." So, the Brit decides to try it out . . . A SE/Hetalia Crossover. Oneshot.


**NOTE: This is in the Soul Eater section because fanfiction will not let me post a crossover for some reason; this story will be moved to the proper section as soon as possible.**

**A/N: Hey, everyone! Well, I'm back with yet another crossover! This time, it's between _Soul Eater_ and _Hetalia_. Oh, and be warned: there may be some slight Kid OCD in here . . . ;) Anyway, enjoy~!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own _Soul Eater_ or _Hetalia,_ no matter how much I wish I did.**

**Dialing Death**

"Argh, why can I never find a good curse for that bloody frog when I need one?" England exclaimed in annoyance. He was once again holed up in his "magic room," as he liked to call it, wearing his black, hooded cloak he used when performing rituals. He had been searching through his vast amount of magic books for hours, looking for a curse he could use on France- the blonde pervert had been getting on his nerves much too frequently lately.

After much fruitless searching for a suitable curse, England was about to give up, when he caught sight of an unfamiliar book off to his right. Curious, he picked it up and examined it. It was fairly small, with the letters "DWMA" embellished on the front. Frowning slightly, England opened the cover and glanced at the first page. It read:

_Find a mirrored surface and write:_

_42-42-564_

_Whenever you want to knock on Death's door._

_~Remember, Lord Death is always willing to help!~_

"'Lord Death,' huh?" England said skeptically. He stared at the book for a moment, before shrugging his shoulders. "Ah, well, there wouldn't be any harm in trying it out, would there?"

He placed the book on a nearby table and then went over to a large object covered in a black cloth in the corner of the room. In one swift movement he pulled the cloth away to reveal a mirror, which reflected the Brit's scowling face as a fine layer of dust settled over his cloak. England shook off his cloak, turned to go find a pen to write with, and then he paused.

He didn't want to ruin his beautiful mirror by writing on it in _pen_. After thinking for a moment, he walked back over to the mirror and breathed on it, writing the numbers, "42-42-564" in the fog left by his hot breath on the cold surface.

Nothing happened for a moment, and England clucked his tongue in annoyance.

"Humph, figures!" he muttered sourly. He was about to abandon his search for a curse in exchange for a nice cup of tea, when a sudden, bright light burst forth from the mirror. Startled, England jumped backwards and tripped over a pile of books, landing unceremoniously on his behind. He ignored this, though, transfixed as a picture started to come into focus on the mirror's surface.

It looked like what appeared to be a room of some kind, with sky blue-colored walls and clouds that England could swear were moving. In the center of the room was a huge, black . . . figure, was all England could use to describe it, with a wavering outline and a white skull mask.

"Hey, hey, hiya! Waz up?" the figure said cheerily, waving an extremely large hand that didn't seem proportional to its body. It noticed England sitting on the ground, staring up at in shock, and the top of its mask lowered, as if it was frowning.

"Uh . . . who are you?" it questioned. England continued to gape at the imposing figure for a few seconds, before shaking his head as if to clear it and raising one eyebrow questioningly.

"L-Lord Death?" he managed to croak out, and then he cleared his throat and stood up, fully regaining his composure. "You're Lord Death, aren't you?"

"Yup, that's me!" the black figure exclaimed enthusiastically. "And who are you, if I may ask? You sound very British . . ."

"Well, I certainly _hope_ so!" England sniffed, holding himself up a tad higher. "_I_ am the great nation of England, formally known as the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland."

"England, huh?" Lord Death said, sounding amused. "Well, Iggy, what'd you call me for? Is there something I can help you with?"

"It's _England,_" the nation said through clenched teeth; he couldn't stand when people called him _Iggy._ "And actually, yes, there _is_ something you could help me with; you see, France has been _extremely_ annoying lately, and I was wondering if you would be able to, uh . . . _take care of him_ for me."

"'Take care of him?'" Lord Death repeated, looking confused. "Um, I'm not quite sure what you mean . . ."

"You know, take care of him! Make it so that he's six feet under, pushing up daisies! Do you understand what I'm getting at?"

"You want me to _kill_ him?" Death gasped dramatically, and England frowned at his surprise.

"Well, yeah. Surely that wouldn't be difficult for you, _Lord Death_," England said, emphasizing the name as if to imply that it might be a false title. If England could act like he didn't believe Lord Death was the real Grim Reaper, it might prompt him to want to prove that he was indeed the real Lord Death. However, the Grim Reaper didn't take the bait.

"I think you're a little confused about what I do, Iggy," he said, laughing at England's scowl of annoyance. "I don't go around killing people; I'm not a kishin. Now, if this "France" was a kishin, then I'd _have_ to send somebody to take care of him right away . . ."

"Oh, well France is _definitely_ a kee-shun," England said quickly, nodding enthusiastically. Lord Death just stared at him.

"Somehow, I don't believe you . . ."

"Trust me, he's been doing some _very_ kee-shun-y things lately."

"Um-"

"Father, I need to talk to you!" came a voice on Lord Death's side of the mirror, out of England's viewpoint. The nation cocked a questioning eyebrow.

"Who is that?" he asked as Lord Death sighed wearily.

"My son," the Grim Reaper replied, and then he turned to address the voice out of sight. "Kid, I'm talking to someone; can't this wait until later?"

"No, Father!" Kid shouted forcefully, and his defiant tone reminded England of a certain blonde-haired, blue-eyed boy he knew. However, this momentary resemblance to America instantly vanished when Kid opened his mouth again.

"This is a very important matter! There are an odd number of eggs in the refrigerator! I can't eat my breakfast if there isn't an even number of eggs!"

"_What?"_ England exclaimed, wondering if he'd heard correctly; was the son of the Grim Reaper really complaining about there not being an even number of eggs in the fridge?

"How about you just eat one of them, then?" Lord Death suggested, and England could hear the boy stomp his foot in agitation.

"I _can't_, Father!" he said slowly, as if Lord Death was the child. "I need _two_ eggs for breakfast, and if I eat two then there will still be an odd number left in the fridge!"

"Well, what do you want _me_ to do about it?"

"Go and buy some more, of course!"

"Wha- why don't _you_ go buy them? I'm trying to have a conversation here, kiddo!" Lord Death gestured towards the mirror. "You came all the way here from the house anyway; you could've just stopped at the store on the way here and saved yourself an extra trip!"

"You know I don't like that store, Father- they don't stack their cans symmetrically," Kid told him matter-of-factly. "Who are you talking to, anyway?"

England could hear footsteps coming towards the mirror, and the nation wondered what Kid was going to look like- a miniature version of Lord Death, or something more sinister. He tried to prepare himself for the worst.

What he wasn't prepared for, however, was the lean, completely human-looking boy that stepped into the mirror's view. Kid stopped in the exact center of the mirror and looked at England curiously.

"Y-you're perfectly normal!" England exclaimed in surprise, and Kid frowned.

"Of course I am!" he snapped. Suddenly, his golden eyes widened and he gasped aloud, staring intently at England's face.

"Your eyebrows . . . they're perfectly symmetrical!"

"Excuse me?" England said uncertainly. Kid clasped his hands together in front of his chest and England noticed Lord Death do a face-palm in the background.

"Wow, they're amazing!" Kid squealed, walking right up to the mirror's surface and making England feel a bit uneasy at the intensity of his gaze. "Perfectly symmetrical! Not a hair out of place- wait, what's that? Oh no, there's one little hair sticking up on the left one! Ah, no, it's ruining the symmetry! It's disgusting! _I have to fix it!"_

England jumped back as Kid suddenly lunged towards him, his arms outstretched. The nation could swear he saw the surface of the mirror bulge outwards as Kid scrabbled against it to reach him.

"Sorry about him!" Lord Death said, grabbing his son around the waist and trying to hold him back. "Um, I have to go! Sorry I couldn't have been more help with France!"

"Wait- hold on!" England exclaimed as Lord Death prepared to leave.

"Sorry, Iggy- gotta go! Give me a call again if you want to chat sometime!" Lord Death waved cheerily, still clutching Kid in one giant hand.

"_No_, Father, _let me_ _go_!" Kid screamed, drowning out England's protests for the Grim Reaper to stay. "I have to fix the eyebrows! _THE EYEBROWS!"_

Suddenly, Lord Death and his son vanished, and England was left staring at his own reflection once again.

"Well, _that_ was pointless and slightly disturbing," he muttered to himself. He noticed one tiny hair on his left eyebrow sticking straight up and smoothed it down. "Maybe I should just try summoning the demon again . . ."

"You mean me, da?" came a soft, heavily accented voice from behind him. England whipped around with a yelp and was shocked to see Russia's head sticking out of the huge pentagram on the floor.

"Bloody hell, Russia!" the blonde yelled, trying not to tremble at Russia's sweet-yet-dangerously-creepy smile. "What in the world are you _doing_ here?"

"Oh, I just wanted to say hi and ask if you had any vodka," Russia replied, still grinning. "I ran out of bottles at my house and won't get another shipment for a few hours. I sent Lithuania out to get some before then, but he's taking too long, so I decided to visit you!"

"I don't have any vodka, Russia," England said quietly, trying to keep his composure; his unsuccessful encounter with Lord Death had left him in a bad mood. "Now go home!"

"But-"

"_Go home!"_

England ran over and shoved Russia's head back through the floor with all his might.

"You _will_ become one with Russia someday!" Russia managed to say before his head disappeared through the floor.

"In your dreams, you bloody git . . .," England snarled. He sighed and stood up straight, throwing off his cloak.

"Forget the tea- I need a _drink_ . . .," he muttered as he climbed up the stairs towards the door.

He opened the door and entered the bright hallway that led to the rest of his house, hoping he wouldn't have to deal with anymore strange demons that day . . .

* * *

**A/N: And there you have it. Please tell me what you think! ^.^ **


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